


Conversations in a diner

by JamesJoints



Category: Football RPF, Men's Football RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Conversations, Dele is an idiot, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Overthinking, harry kane is confused, only a small amount
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesJoints/pseuds/JamesJoints
Summary: The one where Dele has the most groundbreaking of realisations in the most ordinary of moments and doesn't know how to deal with it.(Featuring Harry Kane's mid-life crisis.)





	Conversations in a diner

**Author's Note:**

> The summary is really shit so if you made it here then thank you! I started writing this in October/November so some of the results in the matches aren't accurate, as an unfortunate spurs fan i was quite overly optimistic. Also worth remembering that everyone is 2 years older than they are now so Dele is 24, Eric's 26. Why have I done that? I'm not really sure lol. The title is from DVSN's conversations in a diner. I hope you enjoy this. x

It was the type of place where you would have to book two months in advance, not the kind of place where you could turn up at after work and get a table on short notice. Large mullioned windows, dark walnut tables with flowers on each, delicate live piano music, a flagstone tiled floor, tea served from silver trays in white teapots and conversations in a diner.

‘Why are we here?’ Dele asked with a snigger for what felt like the tenth time. He cut the piece of meat on his plate with a knife and fork feeling like some kind of imposter.

It was the sort of place where Eric belonged with his posh blonde self, he fit right in with all the other posh blonde sods with dictionaries and thesauruses pouring out of their mouths as they chatted quietly.

Eric kicked him subtly under the table and smiled when Dele winced and a couple turned to glare in their direction. Dele stuck his tongue out at them like the real five year old he was.

‘I’m sorry.’ Eric says, raising an eyebrow. ‘Did you mean; thanks Diet for bringing me to this annoyingly expensive restaurant?’

Dele paused, feigned thinking really hard, and even squeezed his eyebrows together. ‘Erm-no. I didn’t mean that, actually.’

‘Then you’re a dick.’ Eric says, placing emphasis on the latter word by stabbing his fork into a particularly stubborn potato. He pouts slightly.

Dele rolls his eyes but links their ankles together under the table anyways and says ‘Thanks.’ and then he follows it up quickly with, ‘Idiot.’

Eric immediately smiles, like a lightbulb suddenly switching on. ‘Wasn’t so hard was it?’ Eric grins at him and shakes his head, it’s so fond, so familiar. ‘Should thank me more often. The shit I put up with.’

‘The nerve.’ Dele states, scandalized. ‘I wash the bloody dishes.’

Eric claps sarcastically, causing the same couple from before to look over again. They seem less hostile this time, after Dele had flashed them with his tongue, the guy at least seems amused as he glances over.

‘My boyfriend washes the dishes.’ Eric tells them, tone so obviously suggesting that this action of brilliance by Dele was somehow insignificant and not really something to be applauded.

The girl in the couple cracks a small smile at this. ‘That’s what Ethan says all the time.’ she nods at her boyfriend. ‘Doesn’t do much else, though.’

‘I _do_ do much else.’ Dele insists, ignoring the questionable English he just used. Even Eric allows it to slide, although he pulls a face.

‘Like what?’ Eric leans forward. ‘Hm? You wash the dishes and..’

Dele blinks at Eric’s warm blue eyes before thinking of an answer. ‘I give kisses and stuff.’

Eric leans back on his chair and laughs. ‘He washes the dishes _and_ gives kisses and stuff. I’ve really found myself a gem.’

Dele folds his arms. ‘Alright, big head. What do _you_ do that’s so much better?’

Eric sits up and looks as if he’s about to write a whole essay. And surely this is quite worrying. Like, Dele’s not _that_ bad of a boyfriend is he? Giving kisses and stuff is a big deal. Like, seriously. Especially after disappointing results, or shit days. You can’t go wrong with kisses. And Eric _likes_ his kisses no matter how much he’s brushing it off now. Eric can’t go five minutes without a kiss at home. He thinks about that fact. _Eric can’t go five minutes without a kiss at home._ It creates a warm buzz in his stomach. He pulls their ankles closer together.

‘Well, I always set the alarm for training in the mornings because you’re way too lazy, I always have to make sure the shopping list consists of some greens because you’re fucking childish and _still_ hate brussel sprouts, I’m the one that drags you home at 2am because Kyle is a really bad influence when you’re both drunk, I always drive because for some reason you think GTA exists in reality-’

‘Wow.’ Dele blurts, cutting him off. And Eric didn’t even seem halfway through. ‘That’s a lot of shit to deal with.’

‘Yeah.’ Eric says, he’s got an annoyed look on his face like he’s realised how much of a hassle Dele really is.

‘But you put up with it.’ Dele adds, placing down the stupid cutlery. Fuck all this posh rubbish. He preferred pizza. But. He was still grateful anyhow. It would have been romantic, if he was a romantic sort of person.

‘Yeah.’ Eric says looking up at him.

‘Because of me.’

Eric nods, eyes darker under the cool lighting of the room, their ankles practically entwined, then adds with a small smirk. ‘Bastard.’

 

++

Dele decides to go from an inner five year old to an inner sixteen year old at the very least.

He sets his own alarm the night before Thursday training, the action itself feeling strange and he realises how natural it had been for him to just never do it; just always expect Eric to wake him up on time.

Dele’s alarm goes off at five and he springs up, filled with some sort of energy and heads for a shower, leaving an apparent sleepy Eric on the other side of the bed. The water is scalding hot against his skin at the beginning so he yelps slightly and adjusts it until the temperature is just about warm. He leans his head against the glass and thinks about their game on the weekend against Man City at Wembley. He hates it there. He thinks most of his teammates do. It just isn’t a club kind of stadium. It’s kind of empty and heartless sort of like The Etihad, it’s nothing like White Hart Lane, the pitch is so much wider and you have to work so much harder, the fans are more subdued, it just isn’t the same.

He’s washing his hair when he hears the shower door open and then he feels Eric’s body behind him a moment later, the hardness of his chest, the strength of the muscles in his arms, the feeling of his dick against his arse. Dele closes his eyes, let’s the water run down his back, lets Eric press against him, allows a soft moan to escape from his lips.

‘Morning.’ Eric mumbles gruffly, placing a kiss to Dele’s left shoulder, his strong hands settle on either side of Dele’ waist and in response he huffs reluctantly and slaps his hand away. He assures himself that this is the grown up thing to do. If Dele allowed Eric to do whatever mischievous things he had in mind, there was no way they were making it to training on time.

‘This is a surprise.’ Eric mentions. ‘You being up before me.’

Dele turns around to face him. ‘I know.’ He leans up slightly to give him a soft kiss, and Dele thinks, no- _knows_ he’ll never get tired of this, never get tired of Eric’s soft lips against his own. ‘But I quite like surprises, don’t you?’

Eric shrugs. ‘I dunno. I sort of liked giving you morning blow jobs to wake you up.’

Dele sighs as the words travel straight to his stupid dick. ‘Don’t tempt me Diet, I’m trying to be a proper adult. I’ll go brush my teeth.’

They leave the house at half past six and Dele surprises Eric again by getting into the driver’s seat instead. He’s quite good at surprises. Eric raises an eyebrow at him. ‘Are you confused, Delboy? Hit your head in the shower?’

Dele rolls his eyes. _‘No._ I just wanted to drive today. I do have a driver’s license, you know.’

Eric snorts. ‘That’s questionable.’

Even so Dele drives reasonably well with Eric trying to wind him up by changing the radio station every thirty seconds which maybe does work as Dele starts trying to swat Eric’s hands away whilst keeping his hands on the steering wheel. And okay maybe he's not the _best_ driver but they get there at least.

The other boys are already on the field warming up and the Gaffer smiles at them like it isn’t really fucking cold outside and tells them to put on the training kit. They’re put into separate groups during the session and so Dele has to endure Harry droning on about how him and Kate couldn’t stop arguing and Dele hummed and nodded in all the right places, accepting a piece of mint flavoured gum from Danny whilst Jan tried to show Mousa how many keepy uppies he could do in fifteen seconds.

‘I’m just wondering if it’s crunch time.’ Harry is saying, sitting on top of three of the balls whilst he preaches his life problems. Dele can tell Sonny wants to use one of the balls but is too much of a  nice guy to ignore Kane’s monologue.

‘I mean I’ve loved Kate since I was a kid, I don’t understand why big arguments are coming about now. It’s foul man, fucking foul. Ivy cries a lot. It’s so unhealthy I-’ He shakes his head and looks away.

‘Look.’ Danny says, pulling Harry up to his feet. Sonny takes one of the balls and smiles gratefully at Rose. Now that he looks closely, Dele realises he has bags under his eyes and his cheeks are paler. ‘Every couple goes through this stuff.’

Harry glances at Dele hopefully. ‘Do you guys have spats too?’

‘No, not really.’ He answers truthfully. ‘I think the problem is we can’t stay mad at each other for too long, so the issue is just forgotten anyways.’

‘So cute.’ Sonny remarks with a grin.

They always get called ‘cute.’ Dele thinks they would have different opinions if they saw how they were at home together. Not ‘cute’ at all. Almost always sexually aroused and insulting each other before it all concluded with Eric fucking into him against the wall. They weren’t cute at all.  

‘So what should I do?’ Kane asks. He has a doleful expression on. And Dele stops pretending to listen and actually does, stops chewing his gum and staring at his boyfriend laughing with Toby.

Jan clears his throat. ‘I guess, when me and my wife went through the same kind of thing where we were just arguing back and forth, we decided to re-enter our honeymoon period.’

‘Where’d you go?’ Sonny asks curiously.

‘Paris.’ Jan stretches out his right leg. ‘Left the kids with my mum. Just us for a whole month. It was great. Sometimes you just need to find that passion again and remember why you fell in love in the first place.’

Dele stubbornly thinks that he and Eric would never have to do that. He’d like to think of their relationship as a fire that could never be put out.

‘Might do.’ Harry says, sniffing as they’re hit with a harsh gust of wind. ‘Might do.’

‘Alright gossip time is over, 6 laps let’s go!’

 

++

Large mullioned windows, dark walnut tables with flowers on each, delicate live piano music, a flagstone tiled floor, tea served from silver trays in white teapots and conversations in a diner.

‘Is this the same seats we were sat in before?’ Dele asks with a laugh as he takes off his coat.

‘No.’ Eric answers, gazing at him thoughtfully. ‘I had to change the view for you from last time. Previously, we had to look at the back of a woman’s head but _now_ we get to look at the back of a bald man instead.’

‘Fantastic improvement.’ Dele chuckles, picking up the glass of wine and swirling it, figuring this is what the posh people did at dinner parties. He pauses when he realises and feels that Eric is still staring at him, blue eyes darker in concentration.

‘What?’ He looks up, his tone slightly defensive.

Eric smiles slightly. ‘I just feel you’ve been different lately. Less-childish, I guess.’ He takes a sip of his glass and then places it back down. ‘Like when we went shopping yesterday you grabbed loads of greens and shoved them in the basket.’

‘Maybe I want to get healthier.’

‘Is it because I told you?’ Eric asks, not buying Dele’s bullshitter of an excuse.

Dele sighs and clasps his hands together. ‘Yeah I just- I don’t know. You listing it out just made me feel really shit. You’re too good to me, I think.’

Eric’s small smile grows into full one. ‘As long as you’re aware.’

‘Fuck off. Dele murmurs quietly. ‘But-um. Thanks for bringing me here. Again.’

‘It’s fine.’ Eric says smugly.

‘Even if I really hate it.’

‘Now you’ve ruined the thank you.’ Eric tuts at him and calls over to the waiter so they can order. The waiter leaves two fortune cookies and Eric grabs both of them before Dele can even react. He opens the first one: _your partner will be someone from the same profession as you._

‘Shit, how did they know.’ He grins.

‘But they’re wrong.’ Dele insists, a joke up his sleeve.

‘How?’ Eric raises an eyebrow.

‘You’re too shit to be classed as a footballer. ‘

‘You’re lucky I love you. Would have boxed your head in for saying that.’

Dele yawns. ‘I’ve heard all the trash talk before, babes.’

Eric links their ankles together under the table without looking up at him. Dele thinks that this is their version of _always._ And the thing was, Dele could totally see them together in twenty years still, as retired footballers, maybe Eric would become a pundit on match of the day and Dele would be the manager of MK Dons or something. They would still come home to each other, would still be madly in love like they were now.

Dele glances around the at the range of couples of various ages, the faint music playing in the background from the live band in the corner of the room, Eric glancing up at him and smiling softly.

Dele wants to kiss him so bad. He just isn’t sure how well that would go down seeing as none of the other couples had displayed public affection yet.

Eric opens the second fortune cookie. He sniggers.

‘What?’ Dele asks curiously.

‘Wouldn’t it- Eric laughs in between. ‘Wouldn’t it be ironic to die in the living room?’

Dele snorts. ‘Fuck. Of course _you’d_ find that funny. With your shit sense of humour.’

Their food arrives and Eric grabs the bottle of ketchup and litters his chips with it.

Dele sprinkles salt on his.

‘Dele.’ Eric starts, swallowing five chips at once. When Dele raises an eyebrow he continues. ‘What did you think when you first met me?’

Dele hums. ‘Have we not had this conversation before?’

Eric gives him a look. ‘Just answer the question, Del.’

Dele glares at him slightly before stealing one of his chips and then he leans back into his chair and begins. ‘Well, let’s see. A boring, blonde haired, heterosexual twat who was pretty average at football.’

‘That isn’t very positive.’ Eric smirks. ‘I thought you were gorgeous. A cocky, nineteen year old, gorgeous heterosexual dickhead with loads of talent.’

‘That’s--nice.’ Dele says surprised. ‘And gorgeous, really? Not _handsome_ or good looking?’

‘ _Gorgeous_.’ Eric says slowly trying to wind him up.

Eric calls him gorgeous later when Dele’s mouth is wrapped around his dick, he leans back and groans lowly. ‘Fuck.’ it comes out breathily.

Dele likes the effect he has on him and pushes his head down lower, till Eric’s dick hits the back of his throat. He manages to control his gag reflex and it’s worth it by the way Eric moans his name.

‘ _Oh,_ Dele--’ Eric grabs at his hair and thrusts into his mouth and Dele kneels patiently and looks up at him underneath his eyelashes and Eric looks down at him and swears before coming violently down his throat. Dele sticks out his tongue, allows the cum to drip down to the floor.

‘You look _filthy._ ’ Eric mutters, pulling him up from his knees and then kissing him, cum and all. It should be disgusting but it isn’t.

‘Love you.’ Dele murmurs against his lips. ‘Even if your cum tastes awful.’

Eric chuckles and drags him toward the bed where Dele snuggles into his side. He likes Eric’s arms around him, it makes him feel safe and protected. Eric kisses his forehead and sighs. ‘Where did you learn to give blowjobs like that?’

‘Oh, you know, Kyle’s a pretty good teacher.’

Eric pinches his arm.

‘Ow. I’m joking, fucking hell.’ Dele rubs at his arm.

‘And you say _I’ve_ got a bad sense of humour.’

‘Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.’ Dele complains, secretly loving hearing the sound of Eric’s voice.

Eric pinches his cheek.

‘Christ, Dier stop touching me. You’re bloody obsessed.’ He hides his smile, buries it into the pillow.

‘Alright.’ Eric says, moving his hands away. It immediately feels colder in the room.

‘ _No,_ now I’m cold. Hold me.’

He practically hears Eric rolls his eyes. ‘For how long?’ Eric lifts his chin up so they’re staring face to face. Dele’s pretty sure they’re talking about something else now.

Dele leans forward and kisses him slowly, Eric kisses him back, it's very warm, made warmer by the fact that they’re enveloped in the heat of the duvet covers, he places a hand on Eric’s chest, hopes Eric knows his answer is forever.  

 

++

They somehow beat Man City on the weekend, it’s a measly victory, a shot by Harry that deflects in off of Walker but he claims it anyways and runs off celebrating. Dele can virtually see the Twitter jokes about Harry claiming things that aren’t his  but it isn’t relevant, doesn’t matter, they’ve _beaten Man City._

Gareth Southgate who was at the match comes to see them in the dressing room afterwards, he’s got his famous waistcoat on and congratulates them, especially Harry, remarking that he was in good form for the upcoming international break.

Kane finds him quickly after, despite scoring the winning goal he looks less than happy, Dele imagines it has something to do with Kate.

‘Can we go for lunch?’ Harry asks him, whipping out his phone to check the time.

‘Oh.’ Dele says, slightly caught off guard. ‘I thought we were all going out to celebrate.’

‘I know.’ He looks sheepish. It’s so different to the commanding man on the pitch. ‘I just wanted to talk to you alone.’

‘Oh.’ Dele says again. He’s so not good with this whole sensitive thing. ‘I’ll just let Eric know.’

Eric is playfully barging into Trips who’s teasing him about being too much of a pussy to get a tattoo. Trips glances over as Dele arrives. ‘Even Dele’s got tattoos.’

Dele pauses. ‘What’d you mean _even_ Dele?’

‘What’d you want?’ Eric asks raising an eyebrow.

Dele frowns. ‘I don’t like that tone, young man.’

‘I’m older than you, though.’

‘Get to the point, Christ.’ says Tripps fondly. ‘You two just love to chat.’

And he isn’t wrong, Dele thinks there’s something infectious about Eric that forces Dele’s tongue to keep waggling, something that makes him feel like he’s back in Year Nine and talking non-stop to avoid doing any work.  

‘Me and Harry are going out for lunch.’ Dele tells Eric, more seriously.

‘Alright.’ Eric shrugs. ‘Have fun, baby.’ He presses a kiss to the top of his head before continuing his conversation with Kieran. It’s so easy between them. And maybe with some idiots he’d dated in the past it would have been an issue but everything is _so easy._

Harry takes him to the same diner that he and Eric usually go to. It’s almost five on a Saturday and the place is packed.

‘Eric and I come here sometimes.’ Dele says conversationally as they’re shown to a table in the corner of the room. Some people glance in their direction. It’s to be expected, really. Kane’s pretty much the face of England.

‘You and Eric do everything together.’ Harry sounds weirdly bitter and Dele blinks up at him surprised.

‘Harry?’

‘Sorry.’ He shakes his head and sits down, Dele following suit. ‘I’m just jealous. I always thought I’d be the one to sort my shit out before you. But instead I’m confused. So confused.’

Dele frowns. ‘Is this to do with Kate? Because arguments are just parts of relationships. It would be weird if everything was perfect.’

They’re interrupted by a waitress who grins widely at Harry. ‘I’m so sorry but-could I get a picture please?’

‘Sure.’ Harry says with a small smile. The lady brings her phone out of her pocket and leans closer to Harry whilst Dele stares at him worried about one of his good friends. He’d been acting weird on Thursday during training and now he seemed even more moody and depressed. Dele wonders how long he’s felt like this and feels bad for not noticing sooner.

The waitress leaves, satisfied and Harry looks back at him. ‘When did you know you were into dudes?’

Dele is taken aback by the question, raises his eyebrows to his hairline. ‘Well-I guess.’ He thinks of his fourteen year old self. ‘When I was 14, I started looking at boys differently. They were suddenly attractive to me.’ He takes a deep breath, realising why Harry had asked in the first place because he’s not that thick. ‘When did you?’

‘Russia. ‘ Harry says tentatively. He looks ashamed. ‘During the world cup. I fooled around with Gareth and..I can’t stop thinking about him.’

‘Harry.’

‘Dele, I have a _child_ and a girlfriend.’ He shakes his head. ‘What the fuck am I even doing?’

‘You’re asking _me_ for advice? I can’t even wake myself up half the time.’ And it’s true. He’s so unequipped for this kind of stuff. Harry might as well as had this conversation with Eric.

‘But you’ve _got it_ Dele.’ Harry insists. ‘ You’re in a solid relationship. I don’t even know what the hell is happening to mine.’

Dele sighs. ‘Well if you really want my advice, for whatever insane reason, then-then I think you should tell Kate the truth.’

‘The truth.’ Harry says quietly like it’s some sort of curse. And maybe it is but it’s gotten Dele this far. The truth was what caused him and Eric to get together in the first place-when they eventually had the balls to admit their feelings to each other.

Around them, men and women talk with avid interest, all of them having conversations in a diner. In _this_ diner. And Dele thinks there’s something special about this place. Something oddly soothing and unique. Something real.

 

++

Dele has the most groundbreaking of realisations in the most ordinary of moments.

It’s the exact moment Eric leans across to whisper something cleverly brilliant in his ear whilst they’re at a club in Camden, that it hits him. He wants to marry him, marry Eric. Holy shit he does. He _really_ does. Eric chuckles to himself and sips at his water, his adam’s apple moving fluidly with the action. He _has_ to.

The temperature in the room magnifies all of a sudden and Dele feels his cheeks flush. He takes a step back to avoid a careless dancing couple and bumps into Eric, who’s hands instinctively grip at his waist. Dele almost freezes. He feels like Eric can read his mind, can tell what he’s thinking. What if Eric doesn’t want that though? What if he _doesn’t want that_?

Eric peers at him. ‘You alright?’

So Dele does what any rational twenty four year old who had just realised that he was prepared to marry his boyfriend would do; he runs. 

Runs straight out of the club, hops into one of the black cabs parked outside. And as he sits in the backseat and tells the driver to take him to Harry’s place instead, he thinks it’s quite ironic, ironic how he’d advised Kane to tell the truth, yet here he is running away from it. He remembers the way Kane said _The truth_ like it was some sort of curse and maybe now he agrees.

It’s that cynical side of him, the cynical side that grew up on the streets in Milton Keynes that lurks whenever things in his life are so good, the cynical side that tells him it won’t last forever and sometimes he ignores it, most of the time he does, but now he’s listening. _He believes it_. There’s a huge difference between being boyfriends and spouses, almost worlds apart. But he wants it. He’s too much of a pussy to talk to Eric about it. He knows Eric will try to call him so he turns his phone off. He just needs to think, needs to sort his shit out. Needs to breathe.

The cab driver pulls up outside of Harry’s house as the sky turns to a darker shade of black, shadows of the moonlight lingering. He isn’t even being logical about this, he thinks as he stands in front of the blue door with a brazen lion knocker.

He knocks twice and the door is opened quickly after by a Harry who looks half drunk, with a bottle in his hand, he’s dressed in his pyjamas but it doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping.

‘Dele?’ Harry blinks at him like he might be hallucinating.

‘I’m sorry for just showing up like this.’ He apologises, eyes flicking behind Harry to the large television in the background.

Harry stares at him like he gets it. He holds forward his bottle. ‘Drink?’

Dele nods instinctively. One drink turns into dozens and soon enough Dele is lying down flat on the white rug of the living room and staring up at the ceiling, shoving down any thoughts he has of Eric down with a swig of whiskey.

It shouldn’t even be this complicated. It was a simple question. ‘Do you wanna marry me?’ If he said yes then that was great and if he said no then- well that was sort of the problem wasn’t it? And Dele, well, he’s quite a prideful person, he wouldn’t be able to deal with that sort of shit and mostly he just wouldn’t be able to deal with Eric saying no. Or worse, Eric looking at him sympathetically, embarrassed on his behalf and too nice to say no.

‘Kate went out with Ivy to her mums.’ Kane says into the silence. ‘I told her.’

Dele sits up, feels a sudden lurch in his stomach at the rapid movement and change of direction. ‘How..was it alright?’

Harry sighs and takes a drink. ‘It was just really shit. Not her reaction or anything. Just the whole situation. It’s really shit. I hate Southgate.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Harry admits. ‘Fuck.’

‘So what happens now?’ Dele asks tentatively.

‘We both take turns to look after Ivy. And I guess that’s it.’ there’s a finality to his tone. ‘That’s it.’

‘So you’re-gay.’

‘I don’t know.’ Harry shrugs and stares down at the carpet. ‘I’m just me, you know?’

‘Yeah.’ Dele says. The whiskey’s finished. ‘Got anymore?’

Harry glances at him. ‘Seriously? How drunk do you want to get?’ and then Harry really _looks_ at him as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Dele, why did you come here?’

‘Because I have to stay away from Eric.’

Harry gives him a look like he thinks he’s crazy. ‘You came here because you want to stay _away_ from your boyfriend?’

‘You don’t understand.’ Dele shakes his head. ‘I want to _marry_ him.’

Harry raises an eyebrow. ‘You came here because you want to stay away from your boyfriend _and_ you want to marry him?’

‘I’m terrified.’ He admits in the depths of Harry’s living room. It feels like a safe space.

Harry is quiet for a moment. ‘I get you.’

‘I know you do.’ Dele says. ‘That’s why I came here. I’m absolutely terrified.’ Harry gets him another bottle of whiskey. ‘In MK, hardly anyone gets married.  Good things don’t happen to us. Not me, anyways. I never thought I’d even play in the premier league how much more meet someone like him and-’

‘Tell me about him.’ Harry insists.

Dele glances at him sceptically.

‘It could be therapeutic.’

Dele concedes easily, though he’d blame this on the excessive amount of alcohol in his veins rather than the fact that he naturally enjoyed talking about him.

So Dele tells Harry about the first time he and Eric went out together, how nervous they both were especially as it had been at a posh, five star italian restaurant and how halfway through Dele had suggested that they just grab chips instead and Eric agreed and they ended up having a more informal first date than expected and a more fun one too. Dele remembers when Eric had let it slip that he was into him and how that had caused an explosion of butterflies to erupt in his stomach, how he’d covered his smile with his hand and looked away.  

He moves onto falling in love with Eric, how easy it had been. Endless days of staring into blue eyes and playing for the same club had caused them to be practically joined at the hip. How Eric was way nicer than he thought he was, how Eric would look for him after shit results on the pitch, how proud he would look when Dele scored.

He falls asleep like that, muttering away, the burden of a question making his heart feel heavy.

 

++

Dele wakes up with his neck placed at an odd angle on the floor and drool sliding down his chin. Everything _hurts_. His head feels like it’s been hit by a train, he can hardly think.

Kate is staring down at him along with Ivy placed in her arms. She looks pale and tired but also somewhat concerned for him. Her eyes flicker to behind him and Dele follows the direction of her gaze, finds Harry also lying on the ground, eyes firmly closed. Glass bottles surround them. It’s not a good look.

‘Dele?’ Kate wonders. She trails off like she’s still trying to comprehend what the fuck was going on.

‘Yeah.’ Dele says. Or croaks, rather. His throat hurts. Is rough like gravel. ‘Time is it?’

‘Almost noon.’ She replies after checking her watch. She pauses and bends down so they’re almost on eye level, balancing so Ivy is comfortable. Ivy scrutinises him. ‘Why were you and Harry drinking?’

At least she’s blunt, he thinks.

‘Oh, you know.’ Dele says vaguely. His head is fucking killing him. Like it’s screaming at him to shut-up and stop talking.

‘Dele.’ she repeats, almost sternly. Like a teacher from secondary school.

‘Look, Kate. I can’t do this right now.’ He admits, rubbing at the sides of his head. ‘I’ve got a severe headache and I’m probably going to throw up if I keep talking. I’m going home now.’ He tries to stand up and wobbles slightly. Even his legs are fucked. When was the last time he even got this drunk?

Kate watches him carefully like he’s glass that’s going to break at any moment. ‘You’ll be okay going back?’

‘I’m a footballer. I can just call a cab.’

‘Right.’ Kate says with a small smile. ‘I forget that sometimes. You’re just Dele to me.’

Dele smiles and is about to walk past but then pauses and turns to face her. ‘Thanks for like-accepting Harry. That he’s-’

‘It’s fine.’ Kate says. ‘I sort of knew. I still selfishly hoped that it wasn’t true you know? But. It’s okay.’

Dele smiles even though his head screams and places a hand to Ivy’s cheek before leaving.

He falls asleep in the cab and is woken up by the driver who’s cranky and complains that he _doesn’t give a fuck if he’s a footballer or a nobody, cars ain’t for sleeping in._ And Dele promptly gives him more cash than he should but it does nothing to improve his sour mood and he chases Dele out of the car and drives off in a huff.

When he stumbles inside, Eric’s sitting in the middle of the room on the couch. The room is reliant on the natural light drifting in through the open windows and TV is off. Eric glances up at him. Dele immediately notices how exhausted he looks and also pissed. Like really pissed.

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’ Eric states as Dele shuts the door, leaning on it for moral support. ‘What the hell happened to your phone?’

‘I turned it off.’

‘You turned it _off?_ ’

‘Eric, my head’s killing me.’

‘Are you serious?’ Eric demands. ’One minute we’re in the club and the next you run off and don’t answer your _fucking_ phone. How do you think that looks to me?’

Dele sighs and walks straight past, goes to their room. Eric follows him.

‘I was worried.’ He says, more calmly this time, though there is clear irritation underneath the surface in the way he runs a hand through his hair roughly.

Dele climbs into the bed and pulls the duvet covers up to his chin. He’s suddenly remembered why he got drunk in the first place. Is paralysed with that same fear again.

‘Dele talk to me.’ Eric adds, standing by the side of the bed.

Dele closes his eyes until eventually Eric leaves and then he buries his face into his pillow and lets it out, lets his tears stain the pillow covers.

 

++

The international break rolls around the following weekend. They’re fine except that they aren’t. Dele can tell Eric thinks somethings up. And the sudden wall Dele has managed to construct between them means things are edgy and tense.

None of the boys seem to notice, as soon as they arrive at Wembley for the England match two minutes late Marcus teases them , placing the cause of them being late as to them too busy doing _other things._ He doesn’t know that they haven’t done other things in a while, haven’t done anything really except lie down in the same bed miles away from one another and spending their days with other people.

Harry’s been urging Dele to _tell_ Eric and each time Dele has shrunk away, not having the balls to do so. So it plagues him and he’s slower in his walk, doesn’t smile as much.

Gareth gives them a quick team talk, tells them France will be cocky as they’re reigning world cup champions, so they’ll have to be the underdogs. Dele watches him carefully, notices the subtle way he stares at Harry for a beat too long.

They’re not playing well, Dele thinks as Raheem shoots wide. Pickford’s made vital saves to keep them in it. And Eric’s not passing him the ball. Everytime he gets it he’ll look up at Dele and deliberately pass it to Jesse or turn and past it back to Kyle. And it’s annoying him. He shoves into Pogba when he tries to claim a throw in for France that isn’t theirs and gets a talking to by the ref.

Half time rolls around.

Dele goes up to Eric who’s quickly finishing a bottle of water. He’s sweating and Dele almost itches to wipe the perspiration off of his forehead.

‘Eric.’ He says, causing the blonde to look up.

He looks semi pissed. It seems to have been his default expression ever since the day after Dele ran away in a state of panic. He feels a pang of guilt at _still_ not telling Eric why he had run away in the first place. But he shakes his head. This wasn't the time for that. They had a game to win. ‘Pass me the ball, yeah?’

‘I will if you get into half decent positions.’ Eric says mildly.

‘I _do.’_ Dele insists.

‘Well do it more often then.’ Eric looks at him. ‘Anything else you want to say?’

Dele gulps and shakes his head no.

Eric nods curtly. ‘Alright.’ and he dumps his bottle to the side and walks over to Stones.

Dele sighs and catches Harry glaring at him from across the changing room. ‘ _Say it.’_ He mouths. Dele shakes his head again and moves to the corner of the room and frowns to himself.

They’re back on the pitch fifteen minutes later. The crowd roar as they exit the tunnel, willing them on. Dele breathes deeply as he waits for the Referee to blow the whistle for the start of the second. He makes eye contact with Paul Pogba who grins wickedly at him and suddenly he’s fired up again.

It’s fairly even for the first five minutes. Kane has a half chance and so does Griezmann, but no one’s exactly dominating. And then at some point he notices Pavard and Vaaranne are both marking Kane and so there’s empty space to their left.

Kyle has the ball so Dele yells his name and Kyle turns, nods, passes the ball to Eric clearly so he can pass the ball to Dele. Except he doesn’t. He passes it to Jesse who’s being marked heavily and so they lose possession and are exposed to a quick counter-attack. Griezmann scores at the other end and does his stupid celebration.

Dele is fucking livid. He storms across the pitch to Eric who’s repositioning himself and shoves him. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Dele demands. ‘If you had just passed me the ball they wouldn’t have bloody scored.’

‘What’s the point?’ Eric remarks. ‘You would have tried a stupid nutmeg and lost the ball anyways.’

Dele shoves him again and this time Eric shoves him back. And then they’re full on fighting. Two grown men on the same team fighting, two lovers, two boyfriends _fighting_.

The French team have stopped celebrating and have turned to look at them. Their fight feels like something much more deeply rooted, days of tension coming to fruition- and it’s all because Dele’s too scared.

‘Why the fuck did Gareth put you on the team anyways? Everyone knows you’re a liability.’

Eric grips his arm at that,  digs his nails in, Dele hisses and pulls back, grabs Eric’s hair and yanks hard. ‘Fuck you Dele.’ Eric says, squirming out of his reach. ‘I don’t get this. I don’t get it. Why are we fighting?’

Dele pauses, surprised by the sudden change of tone. ‘Well-because you wouldn’t pass me the ball.’

‘No I mean. Off the pitch.’ Eric takes a step forward but doesn’t hit him. ‘What aren’t you telling me? Because I don’t understand.’

By this time the rest of their teammates have arrived pulling them apart even though Dele is pretty sure they were done with the fighting thing.

‘What’s going on lads?’ Gareth asks, a look of concern on his face. The atmosphere is ruined, the crowd are murmuring amongst themselves.

‘I don’t know.’ Eric says. It’s an odd answer and their teammates look at them weirdly. Dele stares down at the blades of grass.

‘Well, whatever it is.’ Gareth says. ‘Whatever’s going on personally-don’t bring it out here please. Okay?’ He looks at them both in turn and they both nod. Dele’s head feels heavy on his neck.

They don’t fight for the rest of the match. England ends up losing 1-0.

Dele speedwalks to the changing rooms, showers in record time and changes back into more casual, everyday clothes before barging past the other lads on his way out. They hadn’t arrived at Wembley together; Eric had taken the car and Dele had just called a cab, well used to being in them by now. So as he’s walking he’s making a call because he just wants to leave, wants to run from his problems again. But soon he feels a firm hand on his arm, doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Eric.

‘Stop running away.’ Eric says quietly. His clothes are half packed into his bag, like he’s just rushed out after Dele.

Dele lowers the phone from his ear.

‘We need to talk.’ Eric says maturely after silence from Dele’s half. He holds out a hand and Dele sighs before taking it. Eric links their fingers together and leads them to their white Sedan. He instantly feels more calm.

Dele climbs into the car and leans his head against the window and sighs again. He imagines their fight being the infamous highlight of the match, how embarrassing that was.

Eric pulls into their driveway half an hour later and they get inside soon after. Eric turns off the telly since it had been on Sky Sports and they go their room.

Dele lies down on the white bedsheets of the bed and breathes. ‘I can’t believe we did that.’ He says absentmindedly.

‘I know.’ Eric says, pulling off his shoes and then sitting down on the bed.

Dele closes his eyes. Maybe it’ll be easier this way. He doesn’t have to see the expression on Eric’s face. ‘I’m sorry.’

It’s silent for a while and then he hears and feels Eric shifting, repositioning himself so he’s lying down beside him.

‘I’m an idiot.’ He adds. ‘I’ve made this so much more complicated than it needs to be. I should have just turned to you that night in Camden and gone _hey I think I wanna marry you_ and either you would said yeah or no or whatever and it would have been over in an instant and we could have avoided all of _this._ And _now_ we’ve fought in front of the whole nation and it’s all my fault.’

‘Dele.’ Eric says slowly. ‘What did you just say?’

‘That it’s all my fault.’ Dele repeats.

‘Yeah-but.’ Eric pauses. ‘Are you saying that you ran away in Camden because you had the sudden thought of wanting to marry me?’

‘Oh. That part.’ Dele groans in annoyance. He hadn’t intended to let that slip.

‘We could have it here in London.’ Eric says casually.

‘Have what?’ Dele frowns.

‘The wedding.’

‘Huh?’

Eric laughs. ‘Don’t act so confused. If I didn’t want to be with you forever I wouldn’t put up with all your immature shit would I?’

Dele is at a lost for words.

‘Open your eyes.’ Eric whispers into his ear.

Dele does. Eric’s holding a ring in his finger, it’s plain and simple and silver.

Dele opens his mouth then shuts it.

‘I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.’ Eric states with a soft smile.

Dele sits up quickly, heart racing. He feels like an even bigger idiot. Here he was terrified that Eric would somehow not want him and yet here Eric was with a ring in his hand, getting down on one knee by the side of the bed, looking up at Dele as if he hung the moon from the stars and he _hasn’t_ nowhere even close but what’s important is that Eric _thinks_ he has.

‘I will.’ Dele says instantly, grinning.

‘Shh.’ Eric laughs. ‘I have to-’

‘I will.’ Dele says bending down to kiss him. He pulls back briefly. ‘I can’t believe I was so scared to tell you.’

'I can.’ Eric mumbles. ‘Cause you’re a massive idiot.’

‘Hey don’t get rude now or I’ll say no.’ Dele threatens playfully.

‘No you won’t.’ Eric says confidently.

‘No I won’t.’ Dele agrees leaning in to kiss him again.

Eric laughs suddenly.

‘What?’ Dele asks.

‘Maybe I should actually put the ring _on_ your finger.’

‘Oh.’ Dele sniggers. ‘Yeah, course.’

Eric’s hands shake slightly as he does so and Dele’s heart is literally screaming out his love for this man.

‘Like it?’ Eric wonders.

‘Yeah.’ Dele can’t stop smiling. ‘You always know just what to do with me don’t you?’

‘Do I?’ Eric raises an eyebrow and gives him a look that goes straight to his dick.

‘Fuck.’ Dele says.

‘You want to?’

Dele laughs and pulls Eric back onto the bed with him. ‘I’ll consider it later.’

Eric kissed his head before cuddling him. ‘I missed us like this.’

‘Me too.’ Dele agrees. ‘I’m sorry.’

 Eric places a hand on his hip in what he assumes is an _its okay_ gesture. ‘Why were you so scared anyways?’ He asks gently.

‘Just scared that if i told you, i was putting myself out there, i would be too open. Too vulnerable you know? Vulnerable people usually got bullied back at school. They’re always losers.’

‘I want you to be vulnerable around me.’ Eric tells him. ‘If you ever feel scared, or sad. _Please_ tell me. Okay?’

Dele nods. ‘Okay.’

‘Besides, vulnerability is beautiful because I’m the only one who gets to see you like that.’ Eric noses at his neck. ‘No one knows what you look like when you come except me. I _like_ that. It’s special.’

‘I’m special.’ Dele mumbles happily . ‘We’re special.’

They _were._ Dele was convinced. Was convinced as Eric shamelessly whispered in his ear to give him a blowjob because he’d been wanking for weeks due to Dele’s stupidity, was convinced when afterwards with the lights off, they both couldn’t stop staring at the ring on his finger, both naked and exposed for each other. They were _very_ special.

 

++

‘Where are you taking me?’ Kane asked cautiously as Dele drove as steadily as he possibly could to the diner he and Eric had been to upon several occasions. As his fingers gripped the steering wheel, the ring on his finger kept digging into his skin, leaving a mark, and for some reason he absolutely loved it and gripped the wheel harder, as he turned a corner.

Kane was ranting on, annoyed that Dele was barely speaking, that he’d just turned up at the new flat Kane was staying at and told him to get dressed. Harry Kane didn’t really like surprises but then again neither had Dele. Surprises could be the best thing ever.

Kane was mainly worried that what he was wearing wouldn’t be appropriate for wherever Dele was taking him but Dele was convinced Gareth wouldn’t mind either way. Kane’s plain white shirt and jeans was good enough by Dele’s standards.

Eventually after Kane’s persistent pestering, they arrived and Kane gave a strange look to Dele. ‘You want to have lunch?’

Dele couldn’t help but snigger as he got out of the car, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. ‘Sure, Harry. I want to have lunch.’

Harry even started complaining that it was cold and he should have brought his jacket and _Christ_ he was moody, Dele momentarily wishes he could toss _his_ coat over Harry’s head.

When he brings out his phone he sees that Eric’s been texting him, a string of messages that consist of _hows Kane doing_ and _wheres my favourite red shirt u bastard_ and  finally _my_   _fiancé_ _is a thief_ which he can’t help but feel giddy at, biting down on his lip to hide his smile. Mostly because he _is_ a thief, he's literally wearing Eric's favourite red shirt right now but also because of the word _fianće._

‘Didn’t I take you here last time?’ ’ Kane comments as they head inside.

‘Yeah.’ Dele grins, half paying attention.

Kane glances at him with his eyebrows raised. ‘You’re not even attempting to be imaginative?’

Dele half shrugs, eyes darting around for the familiar sight of the famous England manager and spots him in the corner of the room. Dele almost laughs at the sight of him, he’s dressed in a bloody suit and his face is too shiny like he’s really nervous and he keeps glancing around anxiously like Harry could appear from any angle, when there’s only one door to get into the diner.

He can tell the exact moment Gareth sees Harry because his face softens and he just _stares._ Kane is still rambling on about what he’d ideally like to see on the menu and so Dele just looks at him, waiting for the penny to drop, waiting for him to get it and when he does he shuts up and goes silent.

‘ _Talk._ ‘ He says to Harry. Harry seems to shrink back and it’s so weird to see the England Captain, world cup golden boot winner _Harry Kane_ so afraid, so tentative.

‘Del..’ He sounds like he’s looking for an excuse.

‘I get it, remember? I get how you feel. So now tell him, tell Gareth.’

Harry chews on his bottom lip. ‘Did you set this up?’

Dele smiles at him. ‘Yeah. Because I know you need this. To talk. Sometimes we can’t hide anymore.’

‘Ok.’ Harry says suddenly. ‘ _Okay.’_

And he determinedly walks over to Gareth’s table and sits opposite him and Dele feels like cupid as he watches them proudly before glancing around at the room, generally, at all of the couples that occupy the area.

He glances around at the large mullioned windows, dark walnut tables with flowers on each, delicate live piano music, a flagstone tiled floor, tea served from silver trays in white teapots and important conversations in a diner.

‘Are you waiting for someone?’ He turns and sees one of the waitresses giving him an artificial smile that she had probably practiced in the mirror, was probably told by her boss that it would make customers feel more welcome.

‘Sorry?’ He blinks, suddenly swarmed by the reality of it all, in the corner of his eye he sees Harry and Gareth smiling and somewhere else a man has dropped a glass cup and it shatters to the floor.

‘Are you waiting for someone?’ She repeats carefully, looking at him, _really_ looking at him, like she’s recognising who he is.  

‘Oh.’ Dele says. ‘No. No. I’ve already-I’m with-’

She giggles slightly and the reaction is more real and it puts Dele at ease rather than the fake smile. She got a nametag on, _Diana._ ‘Oh I see.’ She says, pulling at the edges of her blonde hair like she trying to stretch it. ‘I bet she’s really nice.’

Dele huffs a laugh. ‘He’s great, actually.’

Diana’s smile fades slightly, and her expression becomes more serious as she takes a step closer to him. ‘Is it Eric Dier?’ she asks quietly. 

And Dele immediately nods jerkily, even if he’s not sure he’s allowed to confirm it, not sure if the general public are really supposed to know that they’re even together but he doesn’t want to ever hide from the truth. Not anymore.

She smiles at him again, but this time he can tell it’s genuine, it actually reaches her eyes. ‘I always knew there was something about you two.’

‘Yeah? Because Eric keeps staring at me?’ He’s grinning as he says it, hopes she agrees so he can joke about it to Eric later, but she shakes her head.

‘Because you keep staring at _him_.’

It wipes the smile off his face because _fuck, fuck_ he is so whipped, so exposed, so _obvious_ but-but that’s okay. That’s what Eric said. _It’s special_.

He glances at Eric’s texts as he makes his way towards his car, the way his heart thuds when he sees the word fiancé .

 _I’m fucked_ he texts back. He’s so fucking gone for Eric it’s ridiculous.

And the reply is immediate. _I could help with that x_

And Dele can’t help but grin even harder, putting his phone away into his pocket, so he won’t get distracted, so he can drive home safely to the love of his life.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I would love to know if people liked it and the plot made sense? because i felt like i was going in circles lmao. I also really want to write more about cute gay footballers so if anyone has any prompt leave them down below! x


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